October 2 – The Middle Innings

It’s Monday afternoon, and I’ve never seen the Pourhouse this crowded, maybe ever. Then again, this is no ordinary Monday afternoon.

Folks started filterin’ through the door around two o’clock, a half hour before they started over at Fenway, and I had to wonder if all of Boston just shut down today so everyone could get home or get to their favorite waterin’ hole to watch the game.

Danny Fitzgerald finished up his mail route a little earlier than usual, and he was on his corner stool just as the game was startin’. Louie Carbala split from his job selling Carnation products around three and was in his seat by the second inning. John Gaffney wasn’t going to make it until after it was over because he’s the head football coach over at Boston College High and they had practice after school. But I’m not sure Gaff is too concerned about it, football meathead that he is.

I swear, it seemed like all of Southie was here. It was probably this jammed on some of those nights during the ’75 World Series against the Reds, and maybe on a few of those days back in ’67 when we lost to the Cardinals. But my memory ain’t what it used to be, so if ya don’t mind, I’m callin’ this the most crowded I’ve ever seen the joint.

Me and Nora could barely keep up with the bar, and of course, with me tryin’ to watch the game, she was doin’ more work than I was, and she wasn’t too thrilled.

“Cut me some slack, sweetheart,” I said to her. She growled something, and I’m sure there were a few cuss words in there. Ah, she’ll get over it. She’s been puttin’ up with me for twenty-some years.

What really saved our butts was Irene. My lovely wife cooked up a vat of her famous clam chowder, and she hauled it over and served it to whoever wanted some. I’m happy to report that there weren’t any idiots in the place – they all wanted some.

So we had people drinkin’ beer, slurpin’ soup, and cheerin’ the good start for the Sox. Yaz’s homer in the second inning was a shocker cuz we didn’t think he could handle Ron Guidry, not at 39 years of age. But he turned on a fastball and got it down the line where it’s pretty short. Hey, it counts just the same as one of Jim Rice’s 400-foot bombs, right?

Things stayed that way through the fifth, the Sox clingin’ to that 1-0 lead, and Mike Torrez was lookin’ great. In fact, he was pitchin’ better than the great Guidry, who just didn’t seem to be throwin’ as hard as he usually does.

We were sayin’ that in the sixth when Rick Burleson led off with a double, Jerry Remy bunted him over to third, and Rice singled to left to make it 2-0. The place was hoppin’, everyone was slappin’ each other on the back, and I guess you could say we all started gettin’ ahead of ourselves a little bit. But how the hell could you blame us? It was obvious Guidry didn’t have his best stuff, it looked like Torrez did, and it just seemed like it was gonna be our day.

But if there was one thing that had me a little worried – ya know, about the Red Sox cursed fate and all – it was a play that occurred at the end of the sixth. Rice had moved to second on a ground out by Yaz, so the Yankees decided to intentionally walk Carlton Fisk so that Guidry could pitch to the lefty-swingin’ Fred Lynn, even though Lynn has been our hottest hitter lately.

Lou Piniella made an outstanding play to save at least a run in the sixth inning.

Guidry threw him what looked like a weak breakin’ ball – like I said, he just didn’t have his best stuff pitchin’ on three days’ rest – and Lynn roped it into right field. We all jumped up cuz it looked like it was either gonna be a home run, or maybe it would go off the wall for a double. Either way, we were scorin’ some runs. Instead, Lou Piniella, who admitted afterward that he could barely see the ball cuz the sun was so bright, reached up and caught it.

What? Are you kiddin’ me? What a lucky son of a gun he was on that. No one could figure out why Piniella was even there, playin’ pretty close to the line, cuz Lynn never pulls the ball like that. Yet there Piniella was, positioned perfectly. And no one could believe Piniella actually caught it cuz they showed the replay and it was obvious he had no idea where the ball was. He put his glove up, and the ball found it.

There was a loud groan when that happened, and I couldn’t shake the feelin’ that it was a bad sign. Even though we were still up, 2-0, we coulda had a couple more runs there, and two runs just ain’t enough against these damn Yankees.

Everything seemed to be OK, though, in the seventh. Chris Chambliss singled with one out, and then Roy White singled and Chambliss went to second. But just as we were startin’ to squirm, Torrez got pinch-hitter Jim Spencer to fly out, so with two outs, little Bucky Dent stepped up to the plate.

If there was one guy in the Yankee lineup we weren’t too worried about, it was Dent. He’s a singles hitter, and he’s never been the kinda guy who comes through in the clutch. In fact, I’m sure the Yankees would have pinch hit for him in this situation, but they couldn’t. With Willie Randolph injured, the Yankees had some kid named Brian Doyle at second. Spencer pinch-hit for Doyle, and that meant that utility infielder Fred Stanley would be goin’ in to play second for Doyle in the bottom of the seventh. Bob Lemon had no one else to play shortstop, so he had to let Dent hit.

We were discussin’ all this stuff as Dent took ball one, then fouled the next pitch off his foot and was hoppin’ around in pain and the trainer was out there tryin’ to ease some of his discomfort. Meanwhile, the Yankee bat boy came out and took Dent’s bat and handed him a new one. I thought that was kinda odd, but didn’t give it a second thought.

Anyway, Dent finally got himself back into the batters’ box, with his new bat, and we were all feelin’ pretty good cuz now he’s got a sore foot, and maybe he wouldn’t be able to swing right, or run as well if he hit one on the ground. Torrez came set, looked at both runners, and then threw a fastball that tailed inside just a bit. Dent swung, connected, and the ball soared into left field.

Watchin’ on TV, based on the angle of the flight as the ball left the bat, we all figured it would wind up in Yaz’s glove in front of the Green Monster, and that would be the end of the inning. But as the camera picked up the ball, we could see that it was flyin’ further than we thought. In fact, Yaz turned his back to the infield and was preparin’ to field the carom off the wall.

We wish that’s what woulda happened. Instead, that damn ball kept carryin’, and it ended up in the net above the wall. Home run. 3-2 Yankees.

Absolute silence in the bar. Absolute silence at Fenway. And as they showed Dent runnin’ around the bases, then steppin’ on home plate and being greeted by White and Chambliss, Danny just shook his head and said, “Bucky F****** Dent.”

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What Is This?

Welcome back to 1978 and one of the most memorable Major League Baseball seasons ever. Ultimate Year in the Ultimate Rivalry is a unique Democrat and Chronicle online exclusive. It is a historical novel - composed in 21st-century blog style by sports writer Sal Maiorana - that will recreate the remarkable American League East race between the fiercest of rivals, the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox. And telling this epic story, day by day from spring training through the World Series, are three fictional characters created by Maiorana who will be right in the middle of all the action. Everything you read - the accounts of the games, the quotes, the events that occurred on and off the field - is real. However, remember that the fictional characters - Zack, Maria and Jimmy - are indeed figments of the blogger's imagination.

The Characters

Zack Lassiter: Born in Brooklyn and an ardent Dodgers fan in his youth until their sad exodus to Los Angeles, the 43-year-old sports writer now makes his home in Rochester. He got out of the daily New York City newspaper grind a few years ago and is now the American League East correspondent for the respected national weekly magazine, The Baseball Times. His primary job is to provide in-depth coverage of all the teams in the division, though in 1978 that meant spending the bulk of his time chronicling the exploits of the Yankees and Red Sox.

Maria Martinez: Her grandfather came to America from Puerto Rico in the 1920s, settled in the Bronx to work and raise his family, and became a fan of the Babe Ruth/Lou Gehrig Yankees. Her father grew up rooting for Joe DiMaggio and later Mickey Mantle. So 19-year-old Maria, whose immediate family still lives in the shadow of Yankee Stadium, didn't have much of a choice - she was born to be a Yankee fan. Not that she minds as she proudly wears her interlocking NY cap around campus at New York University, or while working the aisles at Yankee Stadium as a vendor, extolling the virtues of Reggie Jackson, Ron Guidry and Thurman Munson.

Jimmy O'Reilly: A lifelong resident of South Boston, the ruddy-faced, big-bellied, cigar-smoking owner of O'Reilly's Pourhouse has never taken a breath of air at a time when his beloved Sawx were world champions. But while they have broken his heart seemingly forever, night after night 58-year-old Jimmy pours drinks for his regular band of patrons - one of whom is Zack Lassiter when he happens to be in town - and roots with unbridled passion for Carl Yastrzemski, Carlton Fisk and Jim Rice, just as he did for Johnny Pesky, Ted Williams and Tony Conigliaro.